


Transformation

by SenkoWakimarin



Category: Daredevil (TV), The Punisher (TV 2017)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-30
Updated: 2018-08-30
Packaged: 2019-07-04 14:43:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 809
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15843429
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SenkoWakimarin/pseuds/SenkoWakimarin
Summary: An eye for an eye might make the world go blind, but maybe that was what the world deserved.





	Transformation

There’s a monster that curls inside him, burrowed in his chest and around his guts. It cries  _justice_ , it cries  _vengeance_ , it cries  _this is the least they deserve_ , but really all it says is   _blood, blood, blood_. An eye for an eye might make the world go blind, but maybe that was what the world deserved. 

The monster doesn’t control him. The monster doesn’t aim the gun, the monster doesn’t curl his fists; he owns responsibility for every kill. The monster rides him, encouragement he would get nowhere else, but ultimately he paves his own way to hell. 

He dedicates himself to feeding the monster. The monster, after all, has the right idea. His family is gone and someone has to pay -- and when that’s done, and he still can’t rest, well, there’s a whole world full of evil people to take on. it’s not much of a transformation, from who he was before -- he follows his own orders now, that’s all. 

It’s Red that changes him. 

He’s always liked the colour red. It’s a warning colour, he thinks, a very straightforward colour. 

Red tries to get in his way, tries to stop him. They fight, beat the shit out of each other, but it’s not like fighting anyone else. 

Time passes, something shifts; they want the same thing. They work together, and they work together well. Fluid, fast, frightening; he doesn’t hear a whisper from the monster despite the lack of fatalities. It’s exciting in it’s newness. He doesn’t exactly understand his fixation on Red, the want he feels, the like calling to like. 

Something shifts again. Red gets himself hurt bad, won’t go to a hospital, so he’s left trying to sew him up and set his bones and keep him awake with nasty comments, hiding him in the 52nd Street safe house. Neither of them talk about much, but he knows he’s fucked when he finds his fingers, so rough and so unclean, running over the line of stitches he’s laid down Red’s back. Knows he’s fucked when Red sucks in a soft breath, but says nothing, just melts a little into his touch.

Blame the beating he took, blame the fever he can feel budding under Red’s skin, blame loneliness and the lack of soft touch. No one would trust him. No one  _should._

 _Maria, think of Maria, or have you_ forgotten her?

They kiss before he can extract himself, and it consumes him, like fire, like something holy. He wants to run from it, but he doesn’t. He lets it happen, trying to remember how one does this. It’s been so long. Red will come to his senses and it won’t happen again. 

He can feel Red’s want and blames it on his vision, on his wounds. He’s not in his right mind, and that does what the hissing voice in his head could not, that gets him to back off, put a few paces between them. Stammers something approaching an apology and ignores it when Red looks confused, maybe even hurt. 

Weeks pass. Red’s still walking with a limp when he sees him on the street. He knows who Red is now, and the knowledge, the trust implied, fills him with conflict. Red trusts him. He shouldn’t. But he likes that trust, wants it.

He sends flowers to Red while he’s working, not roses because roses are too damn obvious. He sends wildflowers, nothing red in the bunch, and signs the card  _F_. Not like Red can’t put the clues together.

Shit happens, as shit is wont to do. They end up on the trail of the same bad guy, agree to work together without much of a word between them. The monster is quiet in his chest, contented in the violence they stir up. Red wants the guy to go to prison; he wants to see him dead, here and now, like every human trafficker he’s dealt with before. 

In the end, he lets Red have his way, doesn’t even suggest a compromise, but when Red smiles at him, he feels like he’s the one who won this time. 

There’s a monster that curls inside him, burrowed in his chest and around his guts. It wants his attention, wants to be fed. But there are moments, when he’s with Red and they’re moving in concert, watching each other’s backs, protective and furious; there are moments when everything is quiet.

And there are moments, later, when they’re alone and taking stock of the damage they’ve taken, when hands find his person, when they’re touching, careful but hungry, so hungry, when he feels  _good_. It’s something he hasn’t felt in a long time, but Red brings him there without any effort, and never pushes for more than he can give. They understand each other, and that alone is worth the effort of changing.

 


End file.
